


I Just Need A Second To Breathe

by dirkin



Series: the rise & the fall [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (Heed the tags), CSA, Child Abuse, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirkin/pseuds/dirkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how do you repay someone for being your oxygen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 24th of June

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags before reading for your own sake!  
> haha blizzard this is what happens when you dont give us enough characterization: i turn them into woobie mentally ill gays  
> thanks again to meg for betaing and weeping about how gay this is with me

You had never been one for baths. Sitting in a tub of your own dead skin and dirt and sweat sounded like the least pleasurable thing possible; and yet here you were, leaning against your sink in only underwear as the tub filled rapidly. You look longingly at the shower fixture, then sigh in defeat, your breath cutting through the thickening air. It seems Reyes has won you over, again.

 

It was him who had convinced you to do this. He had insisted, calling it healing, cocking an eyebrow at the bruises you’d gotten in training. Of course, by “convinced”, you mean he had nagged at you all day about the positive effects of baths, and you’d finally agreed to it on the basis he let you have your shared bathroom to yourself for once. Goodness knows the amount of times he’d casually strolled in for a piss while you were showering. Last time, you’d slipped in fright and nearly given yourself a concussion. He’d just laughed.

 

Reyes was the last person on Earth you could imagine surrounded by bubbles and rubber duckies, but he apparently swore by it. Sceptical as you were of his methods, the steam rising from the bath _did_ smell good - like lilies. You had, naturally, nicked some of his bubble bath for this. Hey, if he was going to badger you into it, you might as well do it his way, right?

 

You twisted off the knob, admiring the copious foam that was rising, threatening to overflow. The bathroom was a dingy thing, not exactly luxurious, but tonight you were assured alone time and you intended to make good use of it. You removed your boxers, grimacing as they stuck to you slightly from sweat, and chucked them into the corner, likely to be forgotten. You adjust your towel on the railing, and roll your shoulders, noting their stiffness that was blossoming into an ache. Training for regular armed forces was hard enough, let alone super-soldier training.

 

You gingerly step one foot into the bath; it’s too hot, but too full to add cold water at the moment. You’ve got a wet leg now, anyway. You pull yourself up using the towel railing, and lower yourself a bit too quickly into the water. The waterline is dangerously close to overflowing now that the mass of your body has expanded it, and decide you’ll get Reyes to fill it for you next time.

 

This makes you blush. You’re startled by it, and pin it on the heat of the bath. You can practically taste your heartbeat, pounding from the temperature. You slosh forward, skin catching on the bathmat, and pull the plug to let some water out before you pass out. You’d rather not drown naked and surrounded by lily-scented bubbles. Why the hell was Reyes using lily bubble bath anyway? You pick up the bottle as the water starts to drain, inspecting it. _Premium Lily Flower Bubble Experience_ , it read. _The soul of a zillion lilies is contained within this heavenly crem_ _é_ _. Let the waterfall of desire and sensation transform your body and mind, and experience flower power like you never have before. Experience life._

 

You put it down, making a face. That sounds threatening. It also sounds like something you’d give to your grandmother for her birthday, not something used regularly by buff, surly Latino men. At least, you reason, it makes him smell nice. Not that you knew what Reyes smelled like. Or that he was buff.

 

You redden further, and hastily shove the plug back in, turning the cold water on full force. It gets you in the leg, and you yelp and slide back, pulling up the bathmat and sending water over the side at the same time. You purse your lips, but relax as the cool water creeps up around you, relieving your high blood pressure. It doesn’t take long for the water to be of bearable temperature, and you were told – no, ordered – not to let the bath get too cool. You turn it off and shuffle the bathmat back into place with your ass in an undignified manner, before slowly leaning back and letting your head rest against the ceramic.

 

You stare at the ceiling as the water settles around you, now a pleasant cocoon of warmth. Your hands float aimlessly over your chest as you relax, and your body feels light and soft, for once. Your mind swirls along with the water, and the scent of lilies makes you think of gardens on a warm day. You imagine sitting inside on a comfortable chair, leaning on one hand lazily. Your legs are spread and your other hand is gripping the back of Reyes’ head, and you let out a quiet moan—

 

Your eyes snap open and you pull back your hands from where they had drifted far too close to your dick. You absolutely did not just imagine that. Cheeks burning, you lean forward to grab a sponge from where it was drooping by the tap and unceremoniously bury your face into it, attempting to scrub your thoughts away. You really, really did not just imagine that.

 

You pause, sponge over your lips. Deny it all you want, you _did_ just imagine that. You move the sponge down to your neck, considering how nice it was for that split moment. Was it a power thing? Yeah, you didn’t like the fact he had seniority over you, so of course you imagine him on his knees, at your command. That was right. You rub a shoulder, absentmindedly. He’s more experienced, he’s a veteran, and he’s stronger than you, too. You’ve both fought each other in training, and there’s been many a time where he’s had you pinned, unable to move… at his mercy. Hot breath tickles your ear as he whispers “I’ve always wanted to see you like this, Morrison,” and you protest, but the reality is you love this, and why haven’t you thought about this before? He moves a hand down, past your hips -

 

And it’s not Reyes anymore, _it’s your father, you’re ten and at home when he comes knocking at your door and you know what he’s there for but you don’t want to you hate it you hate it but he’ll take it anyway he always does he says john. and you smell whiskey and his hand moves past your hips and you_ –

 

You’re having a panic attack now. Your breath is short and ragged but quiet, quiet, you have to keep it _quiet_ . The blood in your veins is trying relentlessly to burst through your skin, and your vision is swimming. The bathroom isn’t your one at the base, _it’s home in indiana and you’re john morrison and you can’t escape_. You faintly feel your nails digging into your ankles and it’s there but it’s not enough, counting from ten isn’t enough, focusing on the wall isn’t enough because it’s crumbling in front of you. You close your eyes, and tears sting your cheeks like acid.

 

In the years since you’d escaped, changed yourself, become a new man, you had strayed from thinking about any of this, but you’d brought back its full wrath now, coursing through your mind like wildfire, inescapable. _the way your mother had stared with dead eyes when you tried to tell her and you begged and pleaded but no matter what he kept coming for you and she never stopped it never tried always told him where you were hiding._ Nausea curls around your spine as your flashbacks hammer against you and the water grows cold around your body. You feel stuck and destroyed and small all over again.

 

It feels like eons pass, when _you feel_ _your father’s hand on your shoulder_ and you cry out; he withdraws it like he’s been shot. _resisting got you hurt and made it harder to endure_ , you never get respite like this, it’s jarring. Your reality stops melting, and you’re aware the water around you is rapidly draining. Your tongue is too big, pressed hard against your teeth, and your eyes are squeezed so tight you’re seeing splotches, but you can’t bring yourself to open them. You don’t want to see what’s happening, you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. _you always keep your eyes shut until it’s over_.

 

There is a big, soft towel around your shoulders. The smell of lilies, overpowering now, is cut by the smell of warmth and sweat and cigarette ash. _your father doesn’t smoke_. The ends of the towel are damp from the leftover bath water. It’s shielding you somewhat, but you’re still too raw, too exposed. Someone, somewhere, is talking, but you’re can’t make it out. Your ears are ringing with _words and noises you don’t want to remember_ , but the smell of cigarettes doesn’t fit and it’s scrambling your memories, choking them, forcing them back.

 

You take in a deep breath, and hold it for a moment. The talking stalls, restarting only once you begin breathing out, slow and shaky. Ten, nine, eight…

 

You open your eyes.

 

The light is off, but the door is open, letting in enough light to see but not to blind. The sponge is discarded by your feet, and your legs are crossed awkwardly in front of you, knees pushed up by the sides of the bath. Only some bubbles around the drain remind you there was a full bath here, once. The mirror, visible from where you are, is steamed over. Your ankles are marked with red crescents from your nails, and you’re wearing a huge black towel like a shroud. It’s not yours. Yours is blue.

 

“…And my God, Morrison, remember when you shot me with that fake blood and I thought I was going to die? Jesus. I still haven’t gotten you back for that one.” You turn your head, sluggish and confused, and it’s Reyes, kneeling beside the bath. “Although I suppose launching that fake spider onto your face was a decent enough prank, but it’s just too cliché. Oh, hey.” He’s met your eyes now, and he’s got a cautious smile on. He’s fiddling with the collar of that stupid black turtleneck you always tease him for – (“it’s a grandpa jumper!” “it is not”) - and holding his beanie with the other. You don’t remember ever seeing him without it on before.

 

You open your mouth, lips sticking, but he shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says. “No need to speak. C’mon, I’ll help you out.” He stands, slow, and offers his hand to you.

 

You take it with reverence, and it’s warm and rough. You’re still dissociating, but the pressure of his hand is something you can focus on. The panic is fading and you’re left with an acute numbness, which would be peaceful if you could process feelings right now. He helps you to your feet, steadying you against the slippery tub, releasing your hand only to wrap your own towel just under your ribs, eyes averted. You’re aware you should be embarrassed; here is your best friend, seeing you naked, at the absolute worst you’ve been in about a decade, _and_ you were fantasizing about him, but your emotions are thousands of miles away right now.

 

You cling to the towel around your shoulders. The texture of it against the pads of your pruned fingers is unfamiliar. It’s Reyes’ towel, you realise, with a small note of surprise. You remember when you first met him, he warned you to never to use it or he’d personally dismember you. Yet here you are, tears burnt into your cheeks and words unable to manifest, his towel clinging to your shoulders. Safe.

 

“Dissociation,” Reyes sighs, as he takes your hand again, “Is shit. I usually use baths to cope with it, didn’t think it’d _cause_ it for you.” He grins when you look at him, bewildered. “Yeah, that’s right, fucker. You didn’t think you were the only one out of us with fucked up head shit did ya? Pft, Morrison, always thinkin’ he’s special.” He gestures for you to step out of the bath, and you do so without thinking, legs working of their own accord. “You are special, though, you little shit, don’t get me wrong...”

 

Apparently that’s enough to make you feel _something_ , and you feel yourself go violently red, unable to hide it with your alien limbs. He winks at you before moving his hand to your shoulder, marching you out into the halls, then towards his own room. You let embarrassment sweep through the nothingness in your chest, and you think you might pass out from it. You don’t think you’ve been in his room before, either, although it’s connected to yours, and you feel like you’re on your first date with him. You scratch that thought from your mind as soon as you think it. You want to close your eyes again, but resist the urge.

 

“Takin’ you in here to keep an eye on you,” he explains, as he moves in front of you to open his door. “Hope that’s alright.” He grins at you, and you shuffle past him, somewhat unsettled by his sudden hospitality.

 

His room smells stronger of ash than he does; it seems he was smoking in here prior to finding you. Closing the door behind him, he sits you down on his desk chair, and positions himself on his bed opposite you. It’s dark, with only a desk lamp to illuminate the room, shadows hiding the corners and details. Reyes leans a little towards you, and you feel his breath tickle on your slightly bare chest. You pull his towel tighter around your shoulders as subtly as possible and try and focus on something other than his face.

 

“You’re welcome to tell me what the hell happened, but don’t feel you have to or anythin’,” he says after you’ve settled a bit. “I- I know I sure as hell don’t want to talk about what I was freaking out over, but usually, whatever started it… I mean I’d want to know for myself ‘cause, Christ, I don’t want to accidentally do that to you.” He’s rambling; so unlike his usual snarky, curt self. “Like, was it the bath? Was it the, the lilies? Shit, do you get flashbacks, to whatever, from like, the smell of lilies? And you used my bubble bath, motherfucker. Fuck, it’s the lilies, ain’t it. Oh shit. I can’t believe I didn’t warn-”

 

It takes you a moment to realize you’re laughing, but now you can’t stop. He’s looking at you, expression somewhere between mock hurt and relief, and you’re giggling, breaths hoarse and fast. He pats your knee, almost fondly, as your hand comes up to wipe the hair from your forehead. You remember you forgot to even clean yourself, aside from your brief distraction with the sponge. Recollection of the lead-up to your breakdown rushes over you, and your laughter dies in your throat. You look up to Reyes again, and his face is serious again.

 

“Day.” Your voice sounds like hell. “Daydreaming. Took me where I… didn’t want to go.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve… uh, I understand your thoughts gettin’ away from you.” He frowns. You find it in you to raise an eyebrow and he looks away. “I mean, like, not the sex sense. Jesus.” You raise your other eyebrow, and he scoffs. “Seriously!”

 

You attempt a smirk, but you feel exhausted, speaking draining any energy you had left from you. Reyes seemingly notices, and gets to his feet, pulling back his quilt as he does so. You look up at him, somewhat alarmed.

 

“I’m going to go get you some clothes,” he announces, “and you’re going to sleep here.”

 

You panic. You absolutely cannot stay in his room after what you were thinking about earlier. “It… I’m okay, really, I-”

 

He fixes you with a stern look and you shut your mouth abruptly. “Absolutely not. Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re anything like me… I’m not lettin’ you be alone tonight.” He fiddles with the end of his sleeve. “Of course, it’s ultimately your choice, but I would never forgive myself if something like that happened and I wasn’t there to help.”

 

You want to ask what he means, but he’s out the door with a brief “be right back” and you’re alone again. The sudden void allows questions to surge through you – how did he know what was happening to you in the bath? What kind of “brain shit” was he talking about earlier? More importantly, why hadn’t he ever told you about it before? You rethink that last one as it occurs to you that you hadn’t told him about your shit either. You worry your lip. He’s always been more reserved, deflective, where you’ve worn your heart on your sleeve your whole life. If you could hide your entire childhood from him, what on Earth could he be hiding from you?

 

“Hey,” Reyes cautiously steps back into the room. “Got you some underwear and a shirt and what I remember being your favourite comfy pants.” He chucks you the bundle, and you drop your grip on the towel in favour of catching it. He shuts the door again, and gives you an exaggerated wink. Before you can react, he turns around and covers his eyes for good measure. You stick your tongue out anyway. You peel the towels from your skin, frowning at the imprint it’s left on you. It takes a great deal of effort but you manage to clothe yourself, and Reyes doesn’t even protest how long you take, for once.

 

“Okay, done,” you mumble, loosely folding the towels and putting them on the floor, his on top. He turns around and gasps dramatically, mock-dazzled over your appearance. You give him a look, and he stops.

 

“No fun,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Anyway. Get into that bed and try to get some sleep.”

 

“You never let _me_ have fun,” you respond, which gets you an offended snort. You’re halfway into his bed – lump in your throat at the thought of it – when you pause. “Where are you going to sleep?”

 

“Eh, I’m not tired, exactly,” he says, but you know he’s lying. “Want to stay awake for you, anyway.”

 

You get into the bed proper, but leave the quilt folded. “You could just…” You gesture to the bed as you trail off and lick your lips, throat dry. “We’ve known each other long enough that it’s not weird, right?”

 

Reyes goes pink. You’ve never seen him blush before, and you worry you’ve broken him. “Uh. Sure? I mean, okay. Sure.”

 

You’re bright red in the face as he kicks off his shoes. He goes to take off his turtleneck, then halts. You watch with curiosity as he turns off the light before he continues, and you can only see his shadow as he undresses. You see the outline of his stomach and you quickly look away.

 

“I… have to warn you though,” he mumbles, and your attention is drawn to him one again. His hands are on the waist of his trousers. “These pants are soaked through from the bath, and, uh… I don’t have spares. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

 

You feel faint at the sudden thought of him holding you like that, bare flesh pressed against you, and you struggle to contain yourself. “I… We’re adults.” Yeah, right. “It’s fine.”

 

A brief rustle of fabric later you feel the bed dip, and your heartbeat speeds up as he gets in, one bare arm brushing against yours, then he gathers the quilt and spreads it over the two of you. You try to ignore when his hand brushes your leg through the quilt. You don’t succeed. _Not weird at all,_ you think to yourself. _Not weird at all that a few hours ago you gave yourself a panic attack from thinking about sex with the guy who is now practically naked beside you._

 

You’re not doing a good job of convincing yourself.

 

“If you say so… Still, uh, sorry. Don’t want to make you feel any worse than you already do.” He takes his two pillows and splits them so you each have one, and you snuggle into it on your left side. He follows suit, facing away from you. His bed is only slightly larger than single, and his back brushes your arm when he breathes in. You shiver.

 

“You only make me feel better like that,” you say, words coming out before you have time to process them. You both freeze. You decide baths are really, _really_ bad for your cognition and general sanity.

 

“Uh.” Reyes turns in the bed to face you, and his face is blank but you can make out his eyes, which are something close to desperate. “What?”

 

You can’t speak for shit at the moment, so you stare at him before making a glance for his lips. They’re close. In all the stuff you were thinking earlier, you’d never actually thought about kissing him. He has one scar, crossing both lips on the left, starting below his jaw and ending just short of his nose. You return your gaze to his eyes and he makes a noise of frustration.

 

“Morrison…” he says, voice low. “Why exactly are you doing this?”

 

“Doing… what?” you reply, attempting to cover your tracks. “I mean, you’ve been so good – uh, so kind tonight. Very… Helpful.” Your voice squeaks and you feel just a little pathetic.

 

“I mean,” and he huffs, “you’ve invited me to share the bed with you. Even though that’s not necessary. And everything I say you blush like a schoolgirl at. And _now_ you’ve said something straight out of a soppy teen romance film. Are you… are you _flirting_ with me?”

 

You go hot as you scramble for words. “You… are my best friend.” Ridiculous. “And I care a lot about you, and am eternally thankful for your help tonight.” Awful. “Sometimes, I just get overwhelmed with emotion, and express it terribly?” Well, that couldn’t have gone worse.

 

Reyes is silent for a minute and you feel naked in his stare. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

 

“Would you mind.” He pauses. “If I let myself get overwhelmed too?”

 

“What?” You crinkle your nose, baffled. “No? Of course n-”

 

He presses his lips to yours, interrupting your sentence. At first you are too stunned to move, frozen by just how soft he’s being, and it takes a few seconds before you kiss him back, gentle, unsure. After the rollercoaster of emotions you’ve been through tonight, you didn’t know this would be how you’d end up. You don’t know what to do with your hands, one bent under your head and the other limp at your side, and your whole body feels like it’s about to melt right through the mattress. Your head is thinking of a thousand things you could be doing, but all you can focus on are his lips on yours, the tickle of his neatly trimmed beard, the fact he smells like cigarettes, the fact he’s so amazingly warm and good and _perfect_. It occurs to you that this is all you’ve wanted to do for years. You’d always put your feelings towards Reyes down as jealousy but now, now you know that you are stupidly in love with the idiot who is kissing you, and you love it.

 

He pulls back and breaks your kiss, then, letting out the breath he was holding. “Was… was that okay?” he whispers, before breaking into a grin despite himself.

 

You smile, his excitement contagious. “I don’t know,” you say, and you let your free hand find its way to his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind trying again to make sure.”

 

“Christ, you really are a walking, talking romance movie, aren’t you?” and he kisses you again before you can protest.

 

 


	2. 15th of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dreams are only dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic depictions of child abuse. please be careful

You wake up to a beam of sunlight hitting you directly in the eye.

 

With a groan, you tilt your face forward, burying it in the warmth in front of you. Head still fuzzy with sleep, it takes you a moment to realize you are in fact face first in Reyes’ chest, and you are actually in his bed.

 

As last night’s mix of experiences swirl through your exhausted mind, you attempt to focus on the kissing bit. It seems almost impossible, now, that Reyes of all people could kiss you like that. Gentle, chaste, soft… You cautiously crack open one eye, squinting against the brightness to get a look at his sleeping face. His mouth is open ever so slightly, tongue poking out. Cute. He slept very unlike what you expected, which was with a scowl, ready to strike at any moment. You decide there and then that he would probably surprise you for the rest of your life.

 

You close your eye again and press yourself closer to his chest, gingerly tucking one hand under his arm. He grumbles, a bit, and you pause. Then he sighs, and puts his arm around you proper.

 

“Tickles,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “You got tiny fingers.”

 

You feel somewhat insulted. “I don’t!” you say, voice muffled. “They’re slim. Piano fingers.”

 

A laugh vibrates in his chest and makes you feel warm. “Can imagine you playin’ piano. Suits you.”

 

“I only got to grade three,” you murmur. “Couldn’t for the life of me get the hang of two hands and three pedals.”

 

Reyes hums softly. “I used to play the flute. Got pretty good at it then joined the army and gave up. We’d be a terrible amateur duo.”

 

“I can’t believe you play _flute.”_ Your eyes open in shock, and you chuckle at the thought of playing with him. “It’d make a change from the usual acoustic guitar renditions of Wonderwall.” You wonder how long that’s been a tradition for.

 

He snorts as he gently rubs the back of your neck, which makes you shiver a bit. You’re suddenly aware of how close your bodies are, and though you’re pretty much fully dressed, he isn’t. Part of you likes that. The rest of you is recoiling in something akin to horror. You decide you need to get up before you freak out and upset him.

 

“So,” you say, feeling a bit awkward. “It’s morning.”

 

You hear him yawn. “Mmm. The morning after the night before.” You go red. “You feelin’ any better?”

 

You nod silently against him. It’s a small lie. The memories that were dredged up in your panic have taken root in your mind, and are rapidly getting worse despite yourself. You try and focus on his warmth, and how your left arm is tingling from being crushed against his chest. All you can think of is how your skin feels wrong and the contact feels like acid. You shudder, disgusted by both the feeling and your reaction.

 

“You cold?” Reyes questions, and moves to pull the quilt round your shoulders more. You shake your head and he stops. “You sure you’re feelin’ okay?”

 

You pull back from him with less resistance than you were expecting, but he keeps his arm around you. It’s too heavy, and he’s looking at you now, worried. “I’m… okay. Can we get up? I’m starting to get uncomfortable.”

 

He bites on his lip and nods, before turning and hopping up in one swift motion. He keeps his back to you as he puts his turtleneck on again. You sit up, sluggish, keeping your eye on him warily. You know it’s silly to mistrust him, now, but inside you’re on edge and you can’t calm your paranoia.

 

“Morrison…” he says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. He’s still not facing you. “I’m not going to hurt you. I know it’s a bit… useless for me to say that, but I need to say it, alright?” You feel immediately guilty for putting him through this after he helped you.

 

“I…” you sigh and slump back into the bed, and he turns around to look, concern etched into his face. You wince. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I just… the closeness… I don’t know. I just couldn’t be so close to you anymore.”

 

Hurt crosses his features before he can hide it, but something else follows. His face darkens with a sudden realization, and he practically falls onto the edge of the bed. “Christ. Of course.”

 

You furrow your brow. “Of course?”

 

He’s chewing on his lip with intensity, and you’re worried he’ll make it bleed. “Dunno how I didn’t see it before. Morrison.” He turns to you and you’re startled by the raw emotion on his face, like he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

 

Your heart is pounding in your ears and you’re confused beyond measure. “For… what? What did you realize?”

 

His jaw sets and he clenches one fist in the quilt. “I know what happened to you, last night, uncomfortable with touch, the… the everything. I don’t want to… I just know.”

 

Oh, no.

 

Your vision blurs and panic begins to overwhelm you again. He can’t possibly know what happened to you. Not even you want to know it all, pathetic as it is. If he knows, then he knows you’re _weak_ , that you’ve fled from it all your life. You’re visibly shaking and you’re worried you’re about to be sick, when Reyes puts one hand very softly, very cautiously on your knee. You stare at it like it’s an alien thing, but the touch is soothing compared to before.

 

“Jack.” He’s never used your first name before. You’ve always been Reyes and Morrison, that’s just how it went. Your name in his voice flows through your chest like a cool breeze, and you shiver involuntarily. It calms you and brings you back from the brink of insanity, refocusing you. You lick your lips, and your tongue sticks to their dryness.

 

“Gabriel,” you respond, and he goes slightly pink and smiles. “I’m okay. …Thank you.”

 

He nods. “I think I’ll go get us some breakfast.” He laughs so softly you almost miss it. “And some pants.”

 

*

 

Reyes doesn’t mention the conversation or his realization again, but you do take to sleeping in his room, and using first names. He makes sure to keep your bodies from touching, which amazes you in a single bed. He also starts sleeping fully clothed, sometimes even in his hoodie despite your protests – but still keeps his hands on you when you kiss. Then, you think, it’s fine. It feels stabilizing, secure.

 

It’s only a few weeks into your... arrangement, when the nightmares start.

 

It’s July, and the nights are hot and heavy. You have a two week break from any action, due to talks with the U.N. You’ve heard rumours of soldiers being interviewed for an elite force, and both you and Reyes are excited about the prospects of joining. One minute you’re falling asleep, listening to him describe his personal tactics for Omnic ambush counters, and the next _you’re back in Indiana, at home, sitting in your bed. The walls are cream coloured, your blanket is worn and old. It’s dusk, and your father will be home in an hour. Outside, there is a raging fire burning in the sky, and the ground is a bottomless void._

 

You awaken almost instantly, panting. Reyes is only half asleep and bolts upright, and you stare at each other in silence. You don’t even notice there are tears on your face until he wipes one from your chin.

 

He holds you, for the first time since your first kiss, until you fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. It keeps the nightmares away, but only once. They continue, and every time you avoid telling Reyes what about, much to his frustration. It takes a week of shuddering awake, nauseous and sweating, feeling hot and cold and like you’re about to die before you decide enough is enough. You attempt to sweet talk Reyes into opening his vodka stash.

 

“I don’t have a vodka stash, Jack,” he insists. “I have _one_ half-empty bottle I brought to that party you insisted on throwing last year.”

 

“Gabriel.” You give him a look of indignation. “How stupid do you think I am? I hear the bottles clinking every time you go through your wardrobe.”

 

You smirk as he flounders for an excuse. “I, uh, keep the empty bottles. As a souvenir of good times that I personally supplied.”

 

“I had to pay you thirty dollars just to get you to share _half a bottle_. I only did that because I wanted you there and knew you wouldn’t come otherwise! And you complained about it the whole time!”

 

“Fine! I don’t supply good times! But my vodka is, uh, pure Russian import! Do you know how hard that is to get when the entire world is fighting the robots that ship it?!”

 

“I watched you buy three bottles of the cheapest stuff from the corner shop down the street just last month.”

 

He doesn’t have a response to that one. Later that night, he’s set out two shot glasses and has three bottles of vodka sitting on his desk, which he pulls over to the bed so you can both sit on it. He scowls the entire time.

 

“Why are we doing this, anyway?” he grumbles, pouring you a shot. “I thought good blonde rural boys didn’t drink alcohol.”

 

“That’s a terrible stereotype.” You watch as he pours his own shot, downs it, and pours another immediately. You follow suit, although it takes incredible will to not immediately cough it back up. “This is disgusting.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “It’s sour raspberry flavour, and it’s delicious, thank you. There’s plain and blueberry if you hate it that much.” He downs the next shot and pauses. “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

You look at him with false innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

He leans back against the wall at the head of his bed, fixing you with a stare. You keep yourself composed. “Jack, I don’t think you’ve ever not protested an alcoholic party we’ve had in the past five years.”

 

You shrug. “Maybe I want to try something new?” You shuffle up the bed and lean into him a bit, smiling. “Especially with you.” You punctuate it with an exaggerated wink.

 

He reddens and turns back to his desk, hastily taking another shot. You giggle a bit and have another yourself, blueberry this time. It’s still disgusting. You don’t drink much, and you know you’re rushing. It’s going to your head already. _Good_ , you think, and have another. You’d like to get so drunk you don’t remember why you needed to in the first place.

 

If it gives you enough confidence to actually be flirty with Reyes, you think that’s alright, too. It’s incredibly fun to watch him being the one blushing and avoiding eye contact for once. The past few weeks have been nice, but you feel so intimidated by how stoic and collected he always is. Even when you’re alone with him, and he lets his guard down a bit, he leads your conversations and makes all the moves, even if you know he’s not trying to. If alcohol is what it takes to get the advantage, then so be it.

 

You pour yourself another shot and force it down. Reyes grimaces. “I don’t know why you insisted on shots, Jack. Is it even fun to just sit here and drink like this?”

 

You nod, sagely. It takes you two tries to remember how to speak. “Anything I do is fun with you, silly.” You’re extremely embarrassed at how cheesy that sounds, but continue anyway. “You’re the grumpy, asshole light of my life, Gabe. A sarcastic shining star in the void of life.”

 

Reyes arches an eyebrow and you stick your tongue out at him. “I’m gonna ban you from any more shots for the rest of the hour.”

 

“Oh, that’s not fair.” You draw out the last word as long as you can stand as he makes an irritated groan. You lean right into him and he clears his throat, avoiding your eyes. “Can’t I convince you to let me have more?”

 

“No.” His voice is firm, but he’s still avoiding your eyes. “I didn’t know how much of a lightweight you were. I probably should’ve stopped you after the second one.”

 

“I’m not that bad!” you insist. “Besides, you can’t say you don’t like it.” You attempt a sexy wink and end up blinking. He glances at you and sighs.

 

“Fine, have this shit,” he says, and hands you the blueberry bottle. You cheer. “I’m not haulin’ your ass to the ER when you get alcohol poisoning though.”

 

You roll your eyes. “I will not get alcohol poisoning.” You take a swig out of the bottle and pause. “What are the symptoms of alcohol poisoning?”

 

Reyes just gently puts his head in his hands.

 

*

 

You are very pleased when you manage to get through a good third of the bottle before you become near catatonic. Everything is a pleasant mash of colours, and after a few more shots Reyes is just as giggly as you are. Which, by the way, is incredibly _weird_. You can excuse him being sweet when you’re alone, but seeing him stumble over words and snort horribly when you joke is just ridiculous. It turns into a vicious circle of you making him laugh, which makes you laugh, which makes him laugh _again_ , and you worry you’re going to pass out from lack of oxygen. It’s not that long before you pass out from intoxication, though, snoozing softly on Reyes’ stomach while he pats your hair. It’s funny, because you always said you’d never sleep on your front, and definitely not that close to someone else.

 

_The nightmare is vivid, explicit. Fire has moved into the house and your father is holding you by the neck on the floor, face down. You can smell the burn of plastic, and your mother is pouring gasoline down the hallway. She comes for you next. Your throat is filled with the petrol as your father rapes you, and you wait for the sweet burn of fire to save you. When you catch alight the pain is extreme, but it tells you it is not going to kill you. You’re damned to this hell for what you’ve done. You’ve always disappointed your parents, don’t you know any better? They only want the best for you. John. The flesh melts and crisps around your fingers and you have no control, you’re lost, you’re spinning as he digs his fingers into your shoulders, hard, and says “you will never escape me, you are **mine** ” –_

You scream. You can’t stop, even though you’re running out of breath, you need to breathe but then the fire will burn your throat, your lungs, and you won’t be able to anymore.

 

“Jack, shh, no, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You look straight up, eyes burning, and it’s not your father. It’s Reyes. Your guardian angel. You’re still drunk, but you can see his face clearer than you’ve ever seen anything in your life. He is fearful, you caused that fear. You’ve scared him away despite your best efforts, you stupid, stupid boy-

He shushes you again and hands you the cigarette he was smoking. You’ve never smoked before and you nearly eat it, hands shaking as you inhale it. It’s vile, you cough and splutter and it burns your lungs. You feel like you’re still dreaming, but this way you have control over it. This is your fire, your burning, you’re controlling it.

 

“Jack…” Reyes’ words are still slurred slightly. “What happened?”

 

Your laugh is cruel and you hate it. “Why don’t you tell me. Oh, because I know you know.”

 

He sits, quiet, hands in his lap and head down. You feel bitter and miserable and vulnerable all at once. You spy his pack of cigarettes and grab them with enough force to dent the box, putting out the stub on your jeans. You barely feel the burn, and light another.

 

“My father,” and it takes you great strength not to vomit, “is called John. He named me after him. No junior, or anything, just John.” Reyes doesn’t meet your eye, but you’re staring directly at him. “It started off with him beating me, but that became too obvious. When the child services were called in, they were pathetic and took my parents’ side because my grades were low and they felt I deserved punishment.

 

“My mother cheated on him. He was angry because she wouldn’t let him touch her anymore, so he raped me. The first time he did it I didn’t know what was happening. It wasn’t just touches, he forced himself into me and raped me. I was ten years old. He didn’t do that again until I was fifteen, because he injured me so badly it was impossible anyway.” Your cigarette is out, and you can feel bile in your throat. You light another. Reyes is trembling but he’s looking at you now, with the face of someone who is watching a bomb kill everyone they love. “I always did what he said, took his lead, and never defied him. Except once, when I was fourteen, I told my mother about his abuse. She didn’t care, and began to enable him in spite. She hated me so much. When I was sixteen I legally changed my name to Jack without their knowledge, using a lot of loopholes. That way, when he moaned my name when he was _raping me-_ ” he flinches and you hate yourself – “I could pretend it wasn’t me and I could be free from it all. But he still controlled everything I did. Everything I am I had to build on my own from the shell of what he left behind. I tried to kill myself three weeks before joining the army, and even then I only joined to get away from being monitored.

 

“So now, you know my whole miserable story. You thought you had it all figured out, huh? The fact that– I was raped and- I can’t escape that name--”

 

You burst into tears, real, proper tears, and bury your face into Reyes’ shoulder. He smells of vodka and you’re burning a hole in his shirt with the cigarette. He licks his fingers and pinches it out before putting an arm around you, slowly.

 

You’re crying properly for the first time in years – before you had tears, but they were involuntary and you had barely noticed. Now you want to cry. You mourn yourself, the person you could have been without your trauma, childhood spent catering to someone who did nothing but hurt you. And now, you cry because you didn’t want to confront it all, drunk and chain smoking, with the sun rising behind the curtains and your best friend, the man you love most in the world and doesn’t even know the extent of it, having to bear witness to your failure.

 

“Your name is Jack Morrison.” Reyes’ voice is quiet. “You are a beacon of hope in this unit. Sometimes, when I see you, my breath catches in my throat because I can’t believe someone like you is really here, on Earth, with the rest of us. You bring people together in a way I can’t describe. You guide us, you lead us, and you take the brunt of any and all punishment to protect us.” You’re still crying, but softer, so as to hear him. “You are who you’ve made yourself to be, and that is a caring and genuine person who is so much more than his past. You’ve defied your trauma despite it all, and yet you never let yourself be hurt by it. And that, I think, is why you’re suffering for it now.

 

“For the first time – and I know this, genuinely I do – you’ve let someone near you on your own terms. You let me hold you, kiss you, and I will be eternally grateful if that is all I ever get to do, because that alone is enough. You are brave, Jack, and just because you get overwhelmed by trauma does not make you a failure. You have won just by surviving. You continue to exist despite your father.” He spits the last word out like it’s poison. “No matter what, you go on. And no matter how alone you think you are in this, you never will be. I’m here for you, and Jack, I love you.”

 

Your breath is shaky and your face is puffy and wet, but you’re overcome with a rush of calm. You want to be angry, you want to shout and shake him and say _no, no you have no idea,_ but there’s a wobble to his voice that’s not alcohol, and you know he’s being genuine.

 

“Here,” he whispers, and pushes you back gently. You’re dizzy from alcohol and crying, but you sit back on your knees. He spreads his arms, and his gaze locks with yours. “You have the power here, to do what you want. I’ll still voice my discomfort, but here, now, you are the one in control.”

 

You blink, owlishly. Reyes is the leader, has been and always will be. You have no idea how to lead interactions, and you feel lightheaded at the prospect of directing.

You put one hand on his leg, and you feel a bit stupid at how powerful you feel. You smiles at you and it’s so loving you nearly cry again. You lean back over, hover above him, cautious. He nods, as if to encourage you, and you lean into his neck to kiss it – you’ve always wanted to, always too afraid to ask – he just sighs, happily, and tilts his head away so you have better access. Even with his turtleneck on, your lips find enough of his skin, so warm and slightly rough with stubble. You leave small kisses all along the collar of his jumper and up his jaw, towards his ear, and before you can stop yourself you’re whispering, “I love you, I love you, thank you, thank you,” like a holy prayer.

 

“I love you too,” he says, and you know he means it.

 

 

 


	3. 13th of August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we can share anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is shorter bc fuck it i want this done........ its still gay though

 

You’re not cured, far from it, but with Reyes you can feel a semblance of peace. He lets you lead kisses, and you find yourself kissing him more often at that. Around others, you keep yourselves more private, but you still find yourself reaching for his hand under the table or giving him “friendly” hugs whenever you can, lingering maybe a touch too long each time.  Occasionally you cry, but he just holds you, petting your hair and soothing you and allowing you space when you need it. Your panic attacks are shorter and you feel yourself coming to terms with how fucked up you are, but it’s okay, because you can be fucked up and he still loves you, still understands.

 

You’re coping.

 

In turn you notice him smiling more, joking, acting like a weight has been lifted, even if it’s not all gone, yet. The shroud of grumpiness and misery that people associated with him was fading, bit by bit, and he makes sure to tell you how much you’ve helped him with that. Every now and again, though, you see indecision cross his face; you know he’s still hiding from you, but that’s okay, too. You know he’ll tell you when he’s ready.

 

You would feel content if there wasn’t one thing bothering you.

 

Every time you let your thoughts drift, you remember what brought you to that fateful panic attack in the bath. _You want him to fuck you_ , says a voice in the back of your head. Another one says _that’s not allowed, with your history. You’d only hurt him. You’re hurting him by thinking it._ It stings because you know it’s true. You have no idea how to be _normal_ in a relationship.

 

There was a pull in you to do more with him, and in the shower more than once you’ve allowed yourself the pleasure of thinking of him, ghosting his hands down your body, making you shiver and moan for him. It never ends exactly well in your head, but you think of it anyway because it’s worth it for the shiver of pleasure that runs up your spine when you touch yourself, _finally_ , even when you feel like throwing up when you come. He’s nearly caught you once or twice. You’ve never felt as wrong as you do when you think about him, but you simply can’t stop yourself. That alone is enough to make you want to die. _Can’t stop myself, just like he couldn’t, didn’t._

 

There are times when it destroys all the progress you’ve made, takes it from you and tears it to pieces and leaves you a shaking wreck. Reyes still comforts you anyway, because he doesn’t know how disgusting you are. Other times, you keep up the happy-and-healing front, because he doesn’t deserve to have to deal with your distress, either.

 

You hope he doesn’t hate you too much for it.

 

*

 

It’s August, and the heat is unbearable. You don’t think you’ve been in your own bed in months, partially because your A/C is broken. Really, though, you just like having someone to hold you.

 

Reyes is filling out some form for the U.N. for the two of you, lying on his bed with a clipboard and idly tapping his pen against his lips. You’re reading over the minutes from various meetings, arms crossed and stuck to your bare chest. They’re boring as hell, and not doing a good job of distracting you from staring at Reyes. He’s wearing shorts and his beanie is off, folded neatly to the side of him. His hair is getting longer, regaining its natural curl, and there’s a small bit on the top of his head sticking straight up from where he keeps running his hand through his hair. He’s still wearing the damned turtleneck despite the heat, and your mind teases you with the thought of pulling it off him and running your tongue down his chest. You knit your brows and chastise yourself internally, returning to the documents on your lap.

 

“Something wrong, golden boy?” Your head snaps up and Reyes is grinning at you.

 

“How many times must I tell you not to call me that?” you frown. His grin widens. “But no, I’m just killing myself slowly over these stupid minutes.”

 

He shrugs. “Don’t know why. You know they’re gonna make this Overwatch thing and it won’t even work. Probably’ll be out of action in about a year or so.”

 

“That’s awfully pessimistic.”

 

“It’s called realism, Jack,” and he looks back to the form, resuming his lip-tapping. “Hurry up and get through it though, I’ll need your help with this shit in a minute.”

 

You make a noise of acknowledgement, but you can’t take your eyes off the pen on his lips. He stops only to scribble something on the forms, and returns it to his mouth. He sucks on it ever so slightly, and a blush consumes your face. You force yourself to continue reading. He’d hate you if he knew.

 

He has a shower later that night, when you’re getting ready for bed and being miserable over the trauma of sex, and comes back in with only boxers and an open dressing gown on. You nearly scream out loud at how low around the hips his waistband is, and he makes it worse by just winking at you. You want to shake him by the shoulders, tell him that you’re _scared_ of these feelings, because-

 

-you don’t want to become your father. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t even know if _you_ can take it, and you’re not sure which of these scares you the most.

 

“Jack, you okay?” he whispers to you later, once you’re both in bed. He’s playing lazily with your hair, and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck, warm. “You’ve been acting weird all day. You need to talk about somethin’?”

 

The heat of the room weighs on your shoulders as you think of an appropriate response. His hand on your neck feels like torment, and you want to know how it’d feel elsewhere on your body. You make a face in the darkness. “I’m fine.”

 

You nearly hear him roll his eyes, and he mutters something to himself in Spanish, likely a playful insult. “Don’t think you’re fine, golden boy.” His hand pauses. “Am I doin’ something wrong?”

 

You nearly injure the both of you by turning over so fast, and you take his face in both hands, just about able to meet his eyes in the dark. “ _No_ ,” you whisper with such ferocity it scares you. “No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not- It’s me.”

 

“Woah,” he says, gripping one of your hands and pressing a kiss to it, without taking his eyes off you. “It’s alright, Jack, calm down. Whatever it is, it’s alright.”

 

He pulls you closer then, and you sigh and let yourself relax against his chest as he resumes fiddling with your hair. Even if you know it’s not alright, hearing him say it is enough to calm you somewhat. You wrap your arms around his waist and press yourself closer and he gives a hum of appreciation. You want so desperately to touch him, and simultaneously you want so desperately to leap out a window.

 

You decide, there and then, that you’ve got nothing much to lose. If he hates you, _then_ you can jump out a window, your self-hatred ratified. If he doesn’t, well…

 

“Gabe,” you mumble into his chest, and you feel him look down at you. “I can’t stop thinking… about you.” Not exactly what you were going for. “…sexually.”

 

He snorts. “I’m fully aware, Jack,” and you freeze, taken aback. “You’re really, really bad at hiding anything. Seriously, though, I’m not gonna push you. Shit’s happened to us that makes it difficult, I get it.”

 

To say you are baffled would be an understatement. You expected so much more anger, rejection - at least a discussion - not immediate comfort.

 

Wait.

 

“Us?” and you pull back slightly to look at him. His eyes widen in realization. “What do you mean, ‘shit’s happened to _us_ ’?”

 

“I, uh,” he clears his throat. “I’ve had a vaguely similar experience to you and your... parent. Like…” He trails off with a non-committal hand gesture. “Y’know.”

 

You feel like you’ve been dipped in ice water. You remember something you had thought before: _if you could hide your abuse from him, what could he be hiding from you?_

 

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Look, it’s fine. It’s nothing compared to what you went through-”

 

“No, no no, no no no,” you stutter, leaning in and kissing at his chest, his throat. “No, it’s still important. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s nothing compared to what happened to me. It still happened to you, Gabe, and it’s awful, it’s fucked up.” Your chin is digging into his shoulder as you give him a proper hug. “Don’t have to talk about it, but know that, at least.”

 

“Oh pfft.” His tone is sulky. “Thanks, you fuckin’… you shit.”

 

You smile broadly into his neck. “Love you too.”

 

He huffs again, and you release your death grip on him, relaxing back into your pillow. “Hm. Tell me, anyway.”

 

You blink. “Tell you what, exactly?”

 

“What’s holding you back from telling me about wanting to - er,” and he blushes, “about… sexual stuff? You … I’d be… cool with that.”

 

You go pink, but raise your eyebrows nonetheless. “I… didn’t know you’d be ‘cool’ with it, Gabe.” You lower your voice. “And I don’t want to fuck it up.”

 

“Hey,” he smiles at you, tilting your face up gently with his hand. “You’re not gonna fuck it up, Jack. You’re not… _we’re_ not… them. The people who did this to us.”

 

You suck in a breath sharply. “But what if I do? What if I hurt you?”

 

He licks his lips. “That’s why we go slowly, fuckin’ cute piece of shit.” You stick your tongue out at him, thankful he’s attempting to keep a light mood. “I know you, and I know you’re freakin’ out internally about this, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And trust me, I’ll let you know if I don’t like something.” He gives you a devilish grin, then. “And I’ll certainly let you know if I _do_.”

 

Your blush consumes your face and you cover it with your hands. “Can you for once in your life stop embarrassing me like this?”

 

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” he smiles, pulling your hands from your face and kissing your neck. “You’re cute when you blush.”

 

“We’re nearly thirty,” you protest. “This is ridiculous. I’m not _cute._ ”

 

“Would you prefer sexy?” He kisses down your shoulder and it tickles. “’Cause you are.”

 

“I’m not sure what’s worse,” you mumble as his hands slide down to your hips. Just like you wanted. Your head swims with excitement and a tiny tinge of leftover guilt.

 

He stops. You look at him, worried he’s read your thoughts, but his brow is creased in thought. “Wait a sec,” he says, and with a great show of strength he pulls you on top of him. You’re slightly disoriented and it takes you a second to shuffle back and sit on his hips. “Much better.”

 

“Uh,” you manage. “Are you not gonna… like… lead?”

 

He gives a soft laugh. “I think we should go at your pace tonight. Besides,” and you notice he looks away briefly, “I uh… like the idea of you on top of me like this. Y’know… leading me.”

 

Your eyes widen. In all your fantasies Reyes was the one being dominant with you, and you’d accepted that. Now here he was, basically asking you to top.

 

You can’t help it. You giggle before you can stop yourself.

 

“Fuck off, Jack,” he groans. This makes you laugh harder. “Fuck you!”

 

“No,” you gasp in between breaths, “I think it’s my job to fuck you, actually.”

 

“ _Mierda_ ,” he says, and you look at him, amused. He’s blushing, you realize, so much you can see it despite the faint light.

 

“Oh my God,” and his blush deepens, “did you find that hot?”

 

“No,” he argues, but you don’t believe him.

 

“Holy shit, Gabe, I was joking,” you say, still snickering. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. You uncross them for him, gently, and lean forward to kiss his jaw in the darkness. “I mightn’t be able to do exactly that… yet… but I’m sure we can do something.”

 

“You’re so bad at intentionally being hot,” he says. “But I suppose I’m not complainin’.”

 

You smile, and he puts his hands back on your waist. You kiss his jaw up to his lips, relishing in how they curve into a smile before he kisses you back, beard tickling against your chin. Your hands run up to his shoulders, holding on as you deepen your kiss, and he tightens his grip, dipping one thumb under your waistband, pulling it down slightly. He rolls his hips upwards, and his half-hard dick presses into yours.

 

You freeze. Fear curls around your spine and your hands tense.

 

“Gabe, wait,” you whisper against his lips.

 

“It’s okay,” he breathes, and you relax your grip. “It’s okay.”

 

You hover there for another moment, separating your thoughts. _This is Gabriel,_ you think. _You love him, and he loves you. He okayed this. You are not your father._

You close your eyes as you press back against him, focusing on the shiver of pleasure that runs up your spine, and how Reyes lets out a tiny groan. He clings to you as you continue, letting out soft noises that make you lightheaded and tingly. It feels _good_ , different and weird but exactly what you wanted all the same. He swears again, and you bite your tongue because his voice is rough and low and gorgeous.

 

“Jack,” he says, and you nearly moan at the sound. He tugs on the waistband of your pants. “Can I?”

 

You nod and he uses both hands to pull them down slowly. He stops before he reveals your cock, and you open your eyes, tilting your head. He’s looking up at you, face unreadable.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

You bite on your lip, and nod again. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

He still doesn’t move, straight-faced and hands clinging to your pants. The realization comes to you then. He can’t do this. He’s just as frightened complying as you were of his rejection.

 

“Gabriel,” you say. “We can stop.”

 

“No!” he almost yells, startling you. “I’m fine. We can keep going.”

 

You take his hands and softly remove them, pulling your waistband back up as you do so. “I’m not going to keep on if I’m making you uncomfortable, Gabe. It’s okay. I’m just relieved you don’t hate me for feeling this way. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

 

“But,” and his face changes to one of despair. “I was enjoying it so much, and then… and then-”

 

You pepper some kisses across his face, interrupting him, and his nose scrunches in mild displeasure. “It happens, it’s okay. It’s normal… at least for us. No explanation needed. We don’t have to do anything serious tonight. And besides,” you grin, “I was enjoying those kisses plenty.”

 

You lift yourself off and plop back down beside him, pulling the quilt back over you both. He turns and looks at you, resting his head on his elbow, a look of fond annoyance on his face.

 

“You’re too good for me, you know,” he mutters.

 

“I’m just doing what you’d do, Gabe,” you say, and kiss him again. “We’re perfect for each other.”

He only hums in agreement, more preoccupied with your lips than arguing your statement.

 

As you fall asleep a while later, Reyes’ head in the crook of your neck, you finally feel more content. The fact you are both flawed, that you’re both suffering, is strangely comforting. Most of all, knowing with concrete proof that you are not your father, that you care and respect Reyes, washes the last of the fear you have lingering under your skin. You repeat your earlier phrase in your mind, letting the feeling of happiness spread across your chest.

 

 _We’re perfect for each other_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe


End file.
